I pick my scabs on sorry days,
Still parched after the flood.
He never laid a hand on me,
So why then so much blood?
Page 122, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
My teapot brimmed with heartache melts,
To gladness on my tongue.
But tea will steep to bitterness,
If it is brewed too long.
Page 121, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
Dim mirrors, pity, woe’s trespass,
And Heaven’s boiled stars.
A shattered home of fine stained glass.
All counted in my scars.
Page 120, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
False pride cost you that swindler’s hat,
A sham of ivory.
No town was ever worth all that.
You’ve seen the last of me.
Page 119, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
Whoa— steady now, black brim, no spurs,
No sheriff ’s star to doubt.
I’ve ridden off and left what’s yers,
No heed, no last shoot out.
Page 118, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
Still patriot, I am somehow,
I've found my new homeland.
A traitor with a broken vow,
Can still offer a hand.
Page 117, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
I took one salty look behind,
Pulled free, at last, turncoat.
How oft I opted to stay blind—
Leashed as a poor scapegoat.
Page 116, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
A road diverged in darkened wood,
The bayonets ahead.
Still frozen, shaking, there I stood,
A wake of mud and dread.
Page 115, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
A finger pointed at the tracks,
But I won’t be compelled.
A finger pointed at the axe,
But I cannot be felled.
Page 114, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025